


Post Script

by indefensibleselfindulgence



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Casual Violence Mention, Epistolary, F/F, Flirting, Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 19:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16878069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefensibleselfindulgence/pseuds/indefensibleselfindulgence
Summary: Post Script: I've attached another sign of their generosity and my gift to you. They are without a doubt more beautiful than anything I've seen on my travels. Well, everything except for you.





	Post Script

**Author's Note:**

> at like the three anons that wanted this, i hope this is even slightly acceptable, and also it is still wednesday here so i am Not Late Thank You
> 
> not beta'd

She writes reports to the queen, not because she wants to but because she is ordered too.   
  
And loathe as she is to admit it, Sir Caroline finds something distinctly pleasing in organizing her thoughts in her letters. It helps her remember the little things. Helps her ground herself.   
  
She doesn't know what the queen does with them when she receives them. She can only hope the time she's wasting on this habit does get thrown into the fire immediately. Reports after reports after reports and no responses back.   
  
The Queen is fine, Sir Caroline knows because she's seen her recently in a briefing when she was back at the castle. The Queen catches her gaze, and for a moment, and it must be a trick of the light, it must be, but there is a tint to her cheeks that Sir Caroline had never noticed before. Maybe a new rouge one of the other knights brought to her on his journey.   
  
Most of the time, the Queen sends her off alone, to work in the still silence of the woods or the mountains or plains and Sir Caroline doesn't mind. It gives her more than enough time to think about her circumstances, to luxuriate in nature, to enjoy herself.   
  
Sir Angelo is fine, if she's very pressed to admit, even maybe a friend at the best of times, but there's nothing like lying alone under an endless sky, bundled in furs with a flask of mulled wine she bought at the nearest village.   
  
**Dear, Your Majesty,** she writes while she listens to the night birds. **Nothing much to report on this leg of the journey. I've had much time to consider a great many things and to appreciate this edge of the world where nothing ever happens that you've sent me to. Decent mulled wine, if nothing else. Yours, Sir Caroline.**  
  
There's no guarantee that the Queen will even read it. Ever since the first issue of reports with the Lake, where the Queen was so intent on fixing her writing habits and her behavioral habits and her bedding habits, there is no reaction now.   
  
She's curious, though, she will admit, if the Queen does bother opening her letters. Doing her best Angelo impression, she dips her quill into her ink and picks up the letter again.   
  
**Post Script: When we last spoke in person, were you wearing rouge or did I enchant you so?**  
  
She sends the letter off and turns in for the night, belly warm with wine and momentary satisfaction.   
  
She sleeps well into the morning, the sun hanging heavy overhead when she wakes, warming her skin. She stretches, listening to her joints pop before standing up and feeling a letter fall off of her chest and onto the dewy grass.   
  
_Dear, Sir Caroline._ It smells like her perfume. _Content to know you are safe and the work is going well. Stay so. Refrain from drinking too much, because while I am certain you can hold your liquor, you are a knight by my name. Do not disgrace it. Yours, Your Queen._  
  
 _Post Script: I don't know what you're talking about. Is this what official correspondence should be used for?_   
  
Sir Caroline smiles. 

  
…

  
She's in one of the larger villages on another routine inspection.   
  
She's used to the flack she receives from the nobles if they could even be called that, but everyone important knows here name, and there's a luxury to that. The inn she stays in is comfortable, room on top of the adjacent flower shop and perfumery.   
  
She thinks it might get horrifically confusing for the customers, but while she sits in her room, leaning her head out the window, and waiting for night, people trail in and out of the store.   
  
When she comes back in the early hours of the morning, with the sun's light just barely cresting over the horizon, covered in viscera from the monster she cut down, the shop's owner comes back at the same time. She gives the old man quite a scare, but he thanks her for the hard work and offers her some flowers.   
  
She takes them.   
  
Later, when she's in the bath, soaking the ache out of her muscles, she picks up her ink and quill.   
  
**Dear, your grace.** She's sure the Queen would get a kick out of that. **The monster has been slain without complication, which I am no doubt certain you are glad to hear. The inn was generous to extend my stay and let me rest overnight. The village is interesting, somehow large and filled with loud people and small at the same time, where everyone knows everyone. And now, they know your will through me. Yours, Sir Caroline.**  
  
 **Post Script: I've attached another sign of their generosity and my gift to you. They are without a doubt more beautiful than anything I've seen on my travels. Well, everything except for you.**   
  
She sends the letter off with the bouquet. She's sure the Queen will appreciate them, for how little allowed outside the castle. She closes her eyes while she washes her hair once again.   
  
When she wakes up, the moon is half crescent, heavy in the sky. A letter sits on her open windowsill, and the Queen's perfume overpowers even the shop below.   
  
_Dear, Sir Caroline. I am pleased to know my will was carried out as I desired it to be. Villages further from the safety of our citadel are often such as you describe them, bastions so society, yet insular and filled with curious people. Be kind to them, give them something to remember us by. Yours, Queen Mira._  
  
 _Post Script: It is either your grace or your majesty, not one or the other. You know this, I'm sure and are only playing at ignorance to vex me. Still, in the off chance, let this serve as a reminder._  
  
 _Post Post script: The flowers are lovely. They sit in a vase in my room. I hope you will be back by the time they bloom._   
  
Sir Caroline arcs a brow at the last of it, smiling while thinking about the rouge of Queen Mira's cheeks reading her compliments.   
  
Angelo may be an idiot, but who doesn't love receiving compliments. 

  
…

  
  
The road from the Castle is much worse than the road to the castle, and this is a fact Sir Caroline has gotten miserably used to. Her horse isn't having a particularly good time of it either. The road is in disrepair, and the trees are too large, not clipped elegant like they are where others can see them.   
  
A forgotten stretch of the woods, it seems.   
  
It takes her longer then she should to get to the village she was sent off too, some tiny little thing with nothing more than nine buildings and a small tent city surrounding it. Her sword weighs heavy on her hip, reminded once again that people can be just as awful as monsters.   
  
Once she takes care of the hostage situation and receives a large gash across her arms for her troubles, she visits the doctor. The very pretty doctor who winks at her and once it gets dark winks at her again until Sir Caroline invites her to drink at the bar.  
  
And then invites her back to the tent she set before liberating the village.   
  
**Dear, Your Highness. The roads leading from the grounds of your estate are miserable, thought you should know. Hard on the horse and the rider. The criminals are dispatched to the fullest intent of the law, and I find myself once against staring up at the night sky. Knowing it is the same sky you look up at reassures me of a safe journey. I made another female friend, the doctor who was kind enough to treat my wounds and buy my ale for the night. Yours, Sir Caroline.**  
  
 **Post Script: Don't worry, Your Highness. Your perfume smells sweeter than hers.**   
  
Satisfied and arguably excited to see what reprimands she will receive she leave the letter outside the tent just as her doctor friend kisses her shoulder to come and rest.   
  
Sleeping on the ground is not pleasant but waking up to the warmth of another woman resting on her arm was. There's a letter, covered in the sweet and familiar scent that Sir Caroline reads without getting up from her spot.   
  
_Sir Caroline. Ah, Sir Caroline grins. Too Easy. I pray the work does not weigh too heavy on your shoulders, and I pray that your blade struck true and quick. I pray that your ale was cool and that your companion, however bad her choices in partners is, was to your liking. I pray you abandon your childish behavior and remember who sends you to do the work you are entrusted with. Yours, Queen Mira_  
  
 _Post Script: The roads will be repaired by your return, thank you for telling me of them as they have escaped my notice._  
  
 _Post Post Script: Pick one title and stick to it, stop embarrassing yourself._  
  
 _Post Post Post Script: If you are so enamored with my perfume, I will gift you a bottle on your name day, and not a single thing else._   
  
The grin can't leave her face, and as she gets back on her horse after a lovely breakfast and a lovely kiss, she sends the Queen another letter.   
  
Dear, My Lady. Perfume would be a lovely name day gift, and all I can give is my thanks your prayers. Yours, Sir Caroline.

  
…

  
  
She and Angelo ride out to the mountains.   
  
It's been a moment since she's been on one of these missions, and the adjustment from silence and peace and quiet is quick and a little harsh, especially with Angelo of all people, but she settles into their usual rhythm pretty quickly.   
  
They slay a monster before lunch, get fed by an innkeeper and slay another before dinner. It's certainly easier with someone there.   
  
Over dinner, while Angelo flirts with the inn keep, Sir Caroline plays at flirting with the Queen.  
  
 **Dear, Your Royal Highness. Your will is done as you bid. My fellow knight is giving me more than enough to keep track off, but then I'm sure you're not angry at the brevity. Yours, Sir Caroline.**  
  
 **Post Script: Even with his aid I am still drenched in viscera and baths are hard to come by. Pray, I do not catch my death in the cold lake.**   
  
She gets a letter back when they are on their horses the next day, and Angelo tries to peak over her shoulder, almost running them both off of the trailer.   
  
_Dear, Sir Caroline. Your expediency is always appreciated, as are your letters. I prayed for your health, but I am sure someone as strong in constitution as yourself does not need it. Sir Caroline has to lift the letter to her face to keep Angelo from spotting her smile. I am certain that you will be able to overcome an illness are you overcome the plague in our land. I pray for a smooth ride. Yours, Queen Mira._  
  
 _Post Script: I will try and see if I can find the time to sew you something warm to wear on your travels. As a thanks._  
  
She almost rides off of the rode herself. 

  
…

  
She sits at the edge of the river and feels the river rush against her feet.   
  
**Dear, Your Holy Grace. I am writing to assure you of another job well done. You've nothing to worry about.**   
  
She sets her paper aside when the gash in her shoulder starts to hurt again.   
  
She had been shot, rather unceremoniously with an arrow through her shoulder, fast and silent and even though she took care of the problem, even now, sitting at the river bank, she can't bring herself to stitch the wound closed. There's just too much a burn.   
  
She considers pressing her shoulder into the water, maybe the cold will numb it enough, such that she can stop winging about it.  
  
 **I will hurry to the citadel as soon as I get the change. Yours, Sir Caroline.**   
  
**Post Script: If I may be so bold, do you think of me, between the letters, my Queen? I think of you frequently.**  
  
She drips water over her ink but send the letter off anyway, before she loses the nerve her pain gives her.   
  
The letter comes back sooner than most, dropping into her lap while her blood dries on her forearm.   
  
_Dear, Sir Caroline. Please take care of yourself. Whatever injury you sustained, please find a healer for. The edge of the paper had still wet blood on it, and I would prefer not to have a scare like that again.  She really thought she was more careful than that. How embarrassing. And yes, Sir Caroline. I find myself thinking of you more often then I should. I would be lying if I said it was wholly pleasant, as you do intentionally vex me from time to time and I admit I am weak to your tricks. And some thought are perhaps overly pleasant. Tell me please that you are not too badly hurt. Yours, Queen Mira._   
  
She picks up another paper, flicks of crimson landing on it that she carefully shakes off.   
  
**Dear Mira. I will be in the citadel before nightfall. There are no healers near, but I don't think it's too bad of an injury. Her handwriting is shaky, she can see it now. Your words are motivation for a quick return. Thank you for thinking of me. Yours, Sir Caroline.**   
  
She keeps the Queen's letter tucked under her armor. 

  
…

  
 _Dear, Sir Caroline. I know you've just left the citadel, but I find myself worried over your arm regardless. Tell me you are still capable of raising a sword to protect yourself? Furthermore, that you've enough provisions on your long journey? I am very busy and have no time to waste thinking about trivial things, let alone something as important as a knights health. Yours, Queen Mira._   
  
**Dear, My Queen. My arm is fine, and I am capable of lifting much more than just my sword. Your time spent on me is appreciated. I feel as if I should apologize for constantly invading your thoughts. If it is any reassurance, you constantly invade mine, even in the heat of battle. I don't believe you've ever seen me fight. I think you would enjoy it tremendously. For your more overly pleasant thoughts. I would be more than happy to demonstrate at your earliest convenience. Yours, Sir Caroline.**   
  
_Dear, Sir Caroline. We will have words about your impropriety when you return. Yours, Queen Mira._   
  
**Dear, My Queen. In your private chambers? Yours, Sir Caroline.**  
  
 _Unless you want to be reprimanded in public._   
  
**If that is what you are interested in, then who am I to deny you, my Queen.**   
  
_Caroline._  
  
 **First names, My Queen?**

_I believe so.  
_

**Then I will ride back as soon as I can, Mira.  
**

_Be careful in your haste.  
_

**Always.**

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always encouraged and very very very appreciated
> 
> talk[ to me here](http://iamalivenow.tumblr.com/)


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